Honestly, Sandie

Gemstones 27/30

Lepidolite is known as the stone of transition. It’s often associated with peace in the middle of change, steady strength, and the ability to keep moving when life looks nothing like you planned.

I didn’t spend much time reading about the stone before I knew exactly who it belonged to.

We met when our kids were little. MOPS mornings, Girl Scouts, family photos, coffee, church. We were building friendships while we were building families, and neither of us knew how much those friendships would matter years later.

She has one of the driest senses of humor you’ll ever meet.

I’ll never forget her asking, “Is chicken not meat?” over a tray of tamales. I laughed so hard I could barely breathe.

Then I learned she was the mom who got up every morning to make her kids a hot breakfast before school.

Meanwhile, I was peeling a Pop-Tart out of the wrapper while yelling, “Shoes! Backpack! We have to go!”

She never made me feel like I was doing motherhood wrong.

She simply loved her family exceptionally well.

That stayed with me.

Not because of the breakfast.

Because it told me everything I needed to know about her.

Years later, she stepped away from church before I did.

I was still inside.

Still leading.

Still convinced that if someone was walking through the hardest chapter of their life, the people surrounding them would surround them even more.

When I eventually left, we found each other again over coffee while the rain covered the windows.

That conversation changed the way I saw everything.

Not because she told me anything I didn’t believe.

Because she confirmed what I had already started noticing.

People disappear.

Sometimes they disappear because they don’t know what to say.

Sometimes they disappear because staying requires more than good intentions.

Sometimes they disappear because institutions make it easier to move forward than to stop and carry someone else’s burden.

I’ve watched that pattern too many times to mistake it for an exception.

Noah Kahan sings, “We’ll all be here forever.”

The irony isn’t lost on me.

The church teaches that kind of permanence.

Real life doesn’t.

Buildings change.

Staff changes.

Friend groups change.

People disappear.

The friendships worth carrying with you don’t.

That’s what this series has become for me.

Not a collection of stories.

A collection of people.

People who deserved to be seen long after they were no longer seen.

People whose value never depended on whether they still occupied a seat in the room.

Lepidolite has always been one of those people.

Grace has always come naturally to her.

So has intuition.

So has the ability to make the people around her feel safe, known, and loved without needing recognition for any of it.

That’s rare.

And I’m grateful life gave me the chance to find this gem again.